


you will make the call

by Willow_bird



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (not really? but sorta? since it's a scene from the book from Andrew's POV), Canon Compliant, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, Neil makes the call, POV Andrew Minyard, Panic Attack, Pining, The King's Men, dumb boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird
Summary: Andrew is almost to the interstate when Neil calls and tells him to pick up at the stadium.----Andrew's POV from where he picks Neil up all the way through their first kiss on the roof of Fox Tower.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 67
Kudos: 419
Collections: All For The Game random short stories





	you will make the call

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeyyyyy. Yeah. I wrote this in like. One sitting. It's not betaed. It's barely even read through. So please, please be kind to me ^^; 
> 
> But look, I pitched the idea to [likearecord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likearecord/pseuds/likearecord) / [alittlelately](https://alittlelately.tumblr.com/) because I couldn't stop thinking about Andrew's reaction to the phone call, where Neil actually CALLED HIM and how that seemed like it should be a BIG DEAL and she went: YES DO THAT. So. I did it. 
> 
> MANDI FRIEND THIS IS FOR YOU.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Pls advise that all dialogue is taken directly from The King's Men with the exception of like, one line from Renee.)

Andrew was glad to be getting away from the fucking Foxes.

It was going to be a long drive to Georgia for Andrew to get the car he wanted and if Andrew was being honest with himself he was looking forward to the whole affair -- and not just so that he could spend a bunch of the junkie’s money. Kevin wasn’t even all that terrible of company when he didn’t have a racquet in his hand, considering he was easily managed by sticking him in the front seat with headphones and a fully-charged phone. It did not escape Andrew that this was probably how most parents handled their three-year-olds while on a road trip, and that thought was amusing enough he set it aside to bring up to Renee later. 

They were halfway to the interstate when Andrew’s phone began to ring, and if it had been just about anyone else he would not have bothered answering at all. But it was Neil who was calling, and while that probably meant that Nicky or someone inconsequential had bullied him into calling him -- as the rest of the Foxes were idiots but they weren’t _entirely_ as dumb as they looked (he was aware of the various bets going around) -- it could also mean that Neil needed him. 

This was by far the most unlikeliest of options, of course. Neil did not know how to rely on another human being even if his life depended on it -- which it _did_ at a frequency that Andrew found alarming _only_ because he’d made it his job to keep the idiot alive for a year. The man would be bleeding out with a knife sticking out of his side, insist he was fine, then nick someone’s dental floss to stitch himself up like some kind of shady urban survivalist. It was enough to make Andrew want to murder the fucker just to save them all some trouble. 

As such, he felt little more than a flash of irritation when he scooped up the phone from its nest under the console and flipped it open to answer it. 

“What?”

If there had been complete silence, maybe Andrew would have been less concerned. He might have been able to explain it away as Neil being stupid and accidentally muting the call when he’d dialed, or him having set the phone down while doing math homework and being too distracted to answer like fucking human being. Instead, Andrew had to listen to the tight, sharp breaths of a man at the edge of panic. He listened to three of them before he growled out, _“Neil.”_

There was no answer, just those sharp breaths. Andrew was already slowing, scanning the road to be able to change lanes and get to where he could turn around. 

“Neil,” he said again, louder, as a dull roar began to hum in his ears, as his heartbeat began to challenge his calm and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Had someone gotten to him? Was he hurt? Why the fuck hadn’t he grabbed Neil when he’d taken Kevin? This was his own damn fucking fault -- he knew that someone was after Neil, even if he was skeptical about exactly how much of the truth Neil had actually given him. Just fucking yesterday someone had drenched their locker room in fucking _blood_ , someone who had known who Neil really was, and knew where to find him. They had assumed it was Riko and his fucking goons, but what if it wasn’t? Neil had seemed to think that it was a threat with no teeth behind it, that Riko didn’t actually have any power, but Andrew should fucking know better. 

Sometimes all someone needed to hurt you was the bone-deep belief that they had the right to do so, consequences to themselves be damned. He already knew that Riko wasn’t all that bright. That he was as reckless as he was cruel, obsessed with his power plays.

Fuck.

He never should have left Neil alone. 

_He never should have left Neil alone._

“Neil!” he said again, almost shouting it. Kevin jolted in the passenger seat, looking over at him and jerking his headphones off. Whatever he saw on his face had him cutting off his words even as he opened his mouth to ask the question.

On the other end of the line, Neil’s breathing suddenly shifted and then dropped away completely for a moment before his voice came on, sounding flat and hollow. 

“Come and get me from the stadium.”

Andrew closed his eyes for just a moment, then snapped the phone shut and tossed it back into the tray under the console. He managed to cut the twenty-minute drive back to Palmetto State down to just fifteen, nearly mowing through a red light to do so. He took no reassurances from the lack of urgency in Neil’s tone. Again, the man could be fucking _bleeding out_ and would insist he was good to go. This was the idiot that had fucking hitchiked home after a night of being dusted. This was the _fucking idiot_ that had given himself to the Ravens on a _silver fucking platter_ and had limped home, after, spending _weeks_ losing time after what fuckery they’d done to him. Neil had never said it, because of course he hadn’t, but Andrew knew he hadn’t been the only one to notice. Even _Coach_ had warned him to keep an eye on him in their little ‘you’re sober now and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill my fucking team’ motivational chat.

So yeah. For all Andrew knew, Neil _was_ bleeding out on the sidewalk. 

Fuck. _Fuck._ He never should have left Neil alone.

The only reason that Andrew slowed to the point where his tires wouldn’t squeal upon turning into the parking lot was because he could see Neil sitting on the curb. Neil, whole and apparently unharmed. Andrew pulled into the closest space and had the door open almost before he had his belt off, then he was standing in front of him.

Finally able to get a good look at him, Andrew could see that he was truly unharmed. Not _fine_ \-- because Neil would never be _fine_ \-- but at the very least unharmed. He did not allow himself to acknowledge his relief and instead fixed Neil with an expectant stare. 

Neil looked up at him and it was like staring into a husk at first. A lifeless, hopeless thing. A walking deadman, still haunting the gallows of his sentence. Andrew didn’t know what had happened, _if_ anything had happened, but he wasn’t here to ask those questions or to get those answers. He was here to keep Neil alive and the important thing was that Neil called him before he was hurt. The important thing was that _Neil called him._

As Andrew watched, something relaxed around Neil’s shoulders, in the tightness of his hands and the shape of his mouth. Something sparked in his eyes, which were just too fucking blue, and Andrew knew he was reading relief. He clenched his jaw but held his silence, kept his expression a careful neutral he didn’t remember ever having to work so hard to maintain.

“I don’t want to be here today,” Neil finally said. There was so much more under that simple statement. Neil saying he didn’t want to be _here_ while he was sitting in front of his precious Foxhole Court perhaps hit him a little bit harder than it should, but Andrew would blame it on his nerves still being a bit raw from that initial call. 

“We were almost to the interstate,” Andrew offered, because he wanted to say _‘I will take you somewhere else’_ but knew that wasn’t an option. Knew _this_ wasn’t an option. Knew _this_ did not exist. That _this_ was _nothing_.

He turned around before he could see more in Neil’s expression than he wanted to and slipped back into the driver’s seat. He waited for the back door to open and for Neil to get in, then was pulling out of the spot and getting them back on the road. As they pulled away from campus, Andrew was torn between the need to get Neil as far away from where he did not want to be as quickly as possible, and taking his time so that the journey would be longer all around. In the end, it didn’t matter. Andrew checked the rearview several times and it didn’t take long for Neil to drift off to sleep, curled up like a homeless child on the backseat with his head against the window. 

Andrew fixed his gaze on the road and Kevin asked no questions.

They were only a few minutes away from the dealership when Andrew’s phone rang again, and he almost didn’t answer it. Renee might have some information he would want, though, and would not expect him to engage beyond receiving her message if that was all he was willing to put up with. He flipped open the phone and brought it to his ear.

Renee was smart enough and knew him well enough that when she didn’t hear any sort of a greeting she cut right to the chase. 

“The others want to throw Neil a birthday party. I advised against it, but they’re being insistent.” 

Andrew couldn’t help himself, his eyes moved of their own accord and flicked up to the rearview again, catching on Neil’s huddled form in his backseat. He thought about the haunted, chased look in Neil’s eyes when he’d pulled up to the stadium. He thought about tight, short breaths that echoed on the other end of the line for nearly a minute when Neil had first called him. He thought about the flat, shaken sound of his voice when he’d finally spoken. He thought about the blood on the floor of the locker room and he thought about panic in Neil’s hands as he’d scrabbled for his gear. He thought about every instance of Neil’s fear since the moment he’d first met him, and about how _none_ of those instances had been caused by him. 

Anger, yes. Wariness, yes. But true fear? No. Andrew knew the look of Neil’s fear, now, and he knew that whatever Neil felt for _him_ , it was not that -- it had never been that. After all, Neil had always been more than willing to bite back at him and Neil wasn’t the kind of animal that bared its teeth when it was _afraid_. Oh no, Neil did not bite when cornered. He did not puff up to make himself seem bigger than he was, did not bluff strength or lash out in a desperate attempt fight. 

Neil was a _runner_. When he was afraid, he _ran_. And that was what had almost happened today. 

Even if Andrew didn’t have a laser recall he would have remembered the day where he’d shoved the phone into this rabbit’s hand and told him to _make the call_. On that day he’d been wanting to impress on him exactly what his choice needed to be in that event, but he’d learned very quickly that it was an instruction Neil probably wouldn’t follow. 

And yet… and _yet_. And yet today, Neil had made the call. 

Somehow, the weight of Neil’s trust hung heavier about his throat than Kevin’s or Aaron’s or Nicky’s. It was another thing entirely, a living thing that clung, shaking and flighty, to his resolve. He wanted to shield that trembling, vulnerable trust and that… that affected Andrew far more that he was willing to admit. Not even to himself, not now. That? That was far, _far_ too dangerous.

So Andrew shoved it away, he kept his focus on the task at hand, and said, “Don’t.” Then he snapped the phone shut, trusting Renee to halt the stupidity before he became the one to deal with it. She would know that he’d be far less delicate than whatever her methods might be. 

When they pulled into the dealership, Andrew parked and shot Kevin a sharp look. The striker didn’t hesitate or question him, just slipped out of the car and let the passenger door swing shut. Only then did Andrew kill the engine. He tossed the keys into the passenger seat and gave himself only a beat to think about it before catching Neil’s stare in the rearview and saying, “Get out or stay here. Those are your only choices.” He would not allow Neil to change his mind. He had chosen to call Andrew, he had chosen to _stay_ , and he could not go back on that decision.

“I’ll stay,” Neil agreed -- and Andrew knew he was answering the question he hadn’t voiced aloud.

Andrew didn’t stick around beyond that. He gave a sharp nod and opened the door. He slammed it shut behind him like he could leave any residual _feelings_ with the rental with a bit of extra force. 

Cars, at least, were a decent enough distraction. He allowed the ballsiest sales shark to approach him first, then gave him a number and told him not to fall below it. He’d never made someone’s day so quickly before, it was almost disconcerting. From there, he followed the man about and listened to him rattle off his pitch for the five priciest cars on the lot. By the time he’d made his selection, Andrew felt closer to equilibrium. He took care of the paperwork and only then did he return to the rental, where a bleary-eyed Neil was just rousing himself again in the backseat. 

Andrew pointedly did not think about how Neil must either be truly fucked up or truly that trusting of his promise to keep him safe for him to fall asleep again in what was arguably a fairly exposed position. The only other time he’d seen him fall asleep like that was when he was losing time earlier this month and had gone missing at the library. 

Yeah, that hadn’t been a good day either. 

Pushing such useless thoughts out of his mind, Andrew pulled the opposite back door open and peered in at Neil. They were about to head out and needed to take both cars back to South Carolina so that he could return the rental car -- there was a _reason_ he’d brought Kevin, after all, other that his general habit of keeping him close to keep him safe -- and he needed to know where Neil was going to ride. It would have been easiest not to approach Neil at all, to just shove Kevin toward the rental and have him drive it back, like intended, Neil in tow. He would then get an entire two-hour drive from Georgia to South Carolina blissfully to himself in his new car. 

Except there was this overwhelming urge to keep Neil close right now, and it was far too tempting to instead order him to switch cars. 

Worse, he wanted to _ask_ Neil if he wanted to stay with him. He wanted to ask him, and he wanted to hear Neil say _yes_ , and that… that was a powerful, dangerous thing to want. Too powerful, too dangerous, and so Andrew settled the question down to its simplest form and instead asked, “Kevin?” He could have been asking if Neil wanted to ride with him or with Kevin, or he could have been asking if he or Kevin was going to drive the rental, or if Kevin should stay with Andrew or go with Neil. The placement of _Kevin_ would be a buffer in the question of _Andrew_ and _Neil_.

Neil interpreted the bisyllabic question as he willed and after a moment of scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes he responded with, “Let him ride with you. I have nothing to say to him.”

Disappointment warred with relief only long enough for Andrew to shove both feelings far away where they couldn’t bother him for at least the next few hours. He nodded and shut the door again, moving back to his new car and gesturing for Kevin to get in the front seat. They stopped for a silent lunch about halfway back to South Carolina and then moved on to drop off the rental before curving around the city to head back to Palmetto. 

When they got to Fox Tower, Neil walked straight past his room and instead aimed for the roof-access staircase. Against his better judgement, Andrew instantly turned to follow. It was so automatic that he almost checked himself. _Almost._ Instead, he told himself that they had unfinished business from today. He told himself that his following Neil up to the roof had absolutely nothing with the buzzing urge to stick close and everything to do with his own need for a cigarette anyway and how he might as well pass over the extra key while they were up there. 

He had two cigarettes out and lit by the time they hit the roof, and he watched Neil’s hands for just a moment too long when he took his and brought it up near his face to inhale the smoke. He hung back an extra moment as Neil crossed to the edge of the roof and sat down, so close that Andrew had the impulse to reach out and drag him back from that edge, away from that four-story drop and back toward the relative safety of a few feet back. That reflex, he knew, was born out of his own fear of heights. It had to be. It _would_ be. Only that, and nothing else. Nothing. _Nothing._

With that in mind, Andrew took the spot next to him. He looked out over the edge and _welcomed_ the jump in his pulse. He welcomed it because it was familiar and because it was sharp, and because it reminded him that Neil wasn’t the only one who could make him feel that. Who could make him feel. After all, between that dead-drop edge and the blue-eyed boy beside him, only one of them was actually a viable option for someone like Andrew Minyard. 

Before he could change his mind, Andrew slipped the spare key to the Maserati out of his pocket and held it out to Neil. 

Neil looked at him, then looked at the key, then to him -- like he didn’t understand what was happening. Of course he didn’t. Idiot.

He dropped the key to the cold stone roof between them and looked back out across campus, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “A man can only have so many issues,” he advised. “It is just a key.”

“You’re a foster child,” Neil said, and his voice was a quiet that Andrew knew meant _vulnerable_. It was the sound of one kind of Neil’s truths. “You know it isn’t.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew could see that Neil was looking down at where the key lay between them, marking a boundary that Neil didn’t understand and Andrew kept toeing far too close to. He brought his cigarette to his lips but stopped before he could take a drag as Neil’s fingers traced the key like the ridges would give him the answers if only he could figure out its code. 

“I’ve always had enough cash to live comfortably, but all the decent places ask too many questions. There are background checks and credit checks and references, things I can’t provide on my own without leaving too much of a trail. I squatted in Millport. Before that I stayed in decrepit weekly hotels or broke into people’s cars or found places that were happy being paid under the table.” Neil’s voice did not get any louder, and it didn’t lose that vulnerable edge to it either, but there was a distance to the way he spoke about his time alone and on the run that had Andrew turning his head to look at him more fully, had him studying him to pick out… _something_ , something he couldn’t quite place. 

“It’s always been ‘go’,” Neil said, and Andrew _placed_ it. He knew that tone. He knew that forced distance. He knew that _place_ inside you where all that was left was cold, bitter defeat. He knew that place inside you where each offered bite of hope was just a bit too hot to choke down, tempting and scalding in one blistering swallow. “It’s always been ‘lie’ and ‘hide’ and ‘disappear’. I’ve never belonged anywhere or had the right to call anything my own. But Coach gave me keys to the court, and you told me to stay.” Neil looked over at him and something about his whole demeanor softened again -- that mix of relief and something else that had happened earlier, and had happened when Andrew had first returned from Easthaven. It was a something that was becoming harder and harder to ignore, that was becoming impossible to pretend wasn’t there at all.

Neil didn’t just look at him, he _looked_ at him. Looked in a way that seemed to see too much, looked in a way that _offered_ and _promised_ and _wished_ in ways that Andrew wasn’t allowed to have. He _looked_ at him and said, “You gave me a key and called it home.”

And there -- _there_ \-- Andrew knew why Neil had been able to call him today. Why Neil had been able to call _him_. It was not because of some promise to keep him safe. It was not because he was actually following the order that Andrew had given him back when they’d first struck their deal. No, Neil had called him, had called _Andrew_ , because Andrew… Andrew had given Neil what Cass had given _him_. Andrew had dangled hope and belonging and home in front of a lonely runaway -- could he really be surprised when Neil had latched on when he’d had absolutely nothing left?

“I haven’t had a home since my parents died,” Neil said quietly and Andrew grit his teeth, lifting a hand and pushing Neil’s face away with two fingers before he did something stupid.

“Don’t look at me like that. I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren’t mine.” He had had his fill of answers and promises and hope and wanting. He knew those things only brought pain. He knew better. He fucking _knew_ better. 

“I’m not looking for an answer. I just want--” Neil huffed and gestured ambiguously. Andrew had to use far too much will to stop himself from filling in that blank with something dangerous and hopeful and impossible.

“I’m tired of being nothing,” Neil finally said after a moment, and Andrew could hear the frustration in his voice. He could _hear_ Neil’s battle with his own hopelessness. He could hear his struggle with his own defeat. He could hear the fruitless, inescapable _want_ that came from being at the bottom of that ravine where last chances realized there was nothing next but darkness. Andrew would know. He had been floating in that darkness for _years_. He knew there was nothing on the other side. He knew that any light that penetrated was just a mirage, an illusion cast down by the reflection of higher circles of hell. When he looked at Neil, he saw someone else who was standing in the darkness. When Neil looked at him… when Neil _looked_ at him, he felt that maybe the darkness wasn’t so cold as he’d thought.

Andrew grit his teeth and stubbed his cigarette out, shifting to face him more fully. “You are a Fox,” he said far more steadily than he felt. “You are always going to be nothing.” And that was the truth. Neil was nothing. He was nothing to the world, nothing to the parents that had died on him and the people who were hunting him. He was _nothing_ , and Andrew would know -- because Andrew was nothing too. _Nothing_ couldn’t want things. _Nothing_ couldn’t hurt. 

But with Neil looking at him -- with Neil _looking_ at him -- he could not help the thought that maybe when nothing got caught up with nothing more, _something_ happened.

“I hate you,” he said quietly, knowing that his edges were fraying, because _want_ was starting to sound like _what if_ in his head, where _nothing_ might be _something_.

“Nine percent of the time you don’t,” Neil returned almost casually, like he wasn’t flirting with disaster.

“Nine percent of the time I don’t want to kill you,” Andrew corrected. “I always hate you.”

“Every time you say that I believe you a little less.” And there, fucking _there_ was that look. The slightest curve of the lips, the softening around his eyes, the drop of his shoulders and the way his body just… leaned in toward Andrew, like there was some sort of gravitational pull that, right now, even Andrew was struggling to deny. 

“No one asked you.” Andrew heard his own voice, knew that it was rasped slightly, affected by the way his heart had started to pick up far more than it ever did when he looked out over the ledge of the building. It made sense, really, that he would lose himself here. Neil was a sharp edge and a steep drop all rolled into one, after all. He was blue eyes and small smirks and challenge and bite, and Andrew had a very unfortunate taste for things that could hurt him. 

Andrew leaned forward, then, his hands capturing Neil’s face to tug him close and break that distance as he brought their mouths together, and -- _oh_. Oh this was too dangerous. Andrew meant to kiss Neil to end the pull. It was supposed to be a crash and then a halt. It was supposed to be a coordinated wreck, or at least that was what he told himself in the split-second before he did it. That all changed the moment he had Neil’s lips, with the taste of him and the _feel_ of him. With the lean of Neil’s body, the way he sank in toward him and _met_ him in the kiss. It was rough and unpracticed, rough and unsteady, paced with rising desperation that Andrew really wasn’t sure originated with him or Neil. Andrew kissed Neil, but Neil _kissed back_ and with the return press of his mouth, the sound of his breath catching, and the shiver of reciprocated desire Andrew almost was not able to stop. 

He felt the ghost of a hand near his face, the back of fingers near his jaw, and he did not stop. It wasn’t until a solid weight landed on the sleeve of his jacket that Andrew jerked, breaking away but only just far enough to gasp in a breath. He felt dizzy and breathless like he was standing on the wing of a plane mid-flight, but instead of seeing the ground when he looked down all he saw was endless sky that was all blue, blue, _blue_.

“Tell me no,” he gasped, feeling raw and wanting to kiss him again. He _would_ kiss him again, if Neil did not stop this. He had to stop this, because Andrew could not -- could _not_ \-- have this. 

Looking at Neil sure as fuck wasn’t helping. His lips were bruised and his cheeks were flushed in a way that definitely wasn’t from the cold. His eyes were wide, but the widening of his pupils confused fear and desire. Andrew grit his teeth and forcibly put a few more inches between them, leaning back. 

“Let go,” he grit out, prying Neil’s hand off his coat. _His coat,_ where Neil had grabbed instead of touching him directly. Had that been on purpose? Was it a fluke? Fuck, _fuck!_ This needed to stop. This could not happen. He gave a sharp shake of his head. “I am not doing this with you right now.” He _should_ say that he wasn’t doing to do this with him _at all_ but he couldn’t make himself say it, couldn’t make himself fully shut this down -- not with the phantom of Neil’s mouth still laying heavy on his.

Fuck. _Fuck._

Andrew shoved Neil’s arm away, needing to stop touching him before he _couldn’t_ stop touching him. He snatched up his abandoned cigarette but it was unusable so he tossed it away and shook a fresh one out of the pack. He knew he was moving in jerks and starts, knew that he was revealing way too much right now, but he wasn’t going to be able to get his shit together like this. He lit the cigarette and took an unsatisfying drag. The need to move, to break, to touch, to expel all this restless energy _somehow_ had him stubbing out the cigarette without another hit and reaching immediately for the pack to get another. 

As soon as it was lit, Neil reached over and plucked it almost fucking _calmly_ out of his hand. He set it down and Andrew took in a slow breath through his teeth. He tossed his pack to the side and pulled one knee up, wrapping his arm around it so he didn’t touch Neil and so he didn’t run away. 

“Why not?” was not what he was expecting Neil to say. It was not what he _wanted_ him to say and sure as fuck not what he _needed_ him to say. 

Andrew glared at him. “Because you’re too stupid to tell me no.”

“And you don’t want me to tell you yes?” Why and how the absolute flying fuck was this idiot able to just… _do_ that? He hated him. He hated him so _fucking_ much that he wished he could just shove him off the edge of the roof. If he could it would solve so many of his problems in one fell swoop. 

“This isn’t a yes,” he said instead. “This is a nervous breakdown. I know the difference even if you don’t.” He shook his head. He did not know what this fucking was. A nervous breakdown, yeah, maybe -- he just wasn’t entirely sure on whose part. Neil had been _off_ today, and so his reactions might not be valid. He hadn’t said _yes_ , no matter what his body language seemed to imply. Fuck, the man didn’t even fucking _swing!_ Was it Andrew’s want that was making him see things, feel things, that weren’t actually there? That was a dark path that he did not want to test.

He shook his head again, rubbing his thumb along his mouth, trying a little too desperately not to think about the lingering taste of Neil’s mouth and the bite of his want crashing against his own. “I won’t be like them. I won’t let you let me be.”

He saw Neil go still, saw his mouth open and shut before he finally responded, and when he did there was something low and steady and… _protective_ in his voice that Andrew was not used to hearing, not on his behalf. 

“The next time one of them says you’re soulless I might have to fight them.”

Something too-warm stirred too deep in his chest. Andrew closed his eyes, then opened them, willing himself closer to a cold neutral that he honestly wasn’t sure he’d ever get back to. “Ninety-two percent, going on ninety-three,” he said as casually as he could muster and because he was watching he saw the moment that Neil began to smile. That too-warm something-for-the-nothing inside his chest rustled and murmured and Andrew did his best to ignore it. 

Neil relaxed and though he’d managed to shove the smile off his face there was still something soft and personal about the way he looked at him as he pushed himself slowly to his feet. Andrew looked away from it, not wanting to see it -- not now, not fucking ever.

“Hey,” he said, but Andrew kept his gaze firmly directed out toward the stretch of the campus beyond Fox Tower. “Thank you.”

“Go away before I push you off the side,” he warned without looking at him. 

“Do it,” Neil said, and even though he was behind him now and Andrew couldn’t see him, he could still _hear_ that _look_ , and fuck it if he wasn’t holding his breath when the idiot continued with, “I’d drag you with me.”

Andrew listened as Neil’s footsteps retreated, and remained exactly where he was long after the roof door banged shut. He sat there and told himself that he couldn’t have this, that Neil didn’t want it - that _Neil_ couldn’t have it and even if they tried they’d only be fucking fooling themselves. And when he still couldn’t chase away the feeling of Neil’s mouth on his and Neil’s hand twisted in his coat, when he couldn’t banish the memory of his body leaning in and the sound of his breath coming short, Andrew allowed himself -- for only a moment -- to imagine that maybe, _maybe_ they could have a little bit of nothing, even if they could never have something.


End file.
